Her Name Was Lola

38 A Whole New Ball Game

June 1997. Max is utterly gobsmacked by Moe’s put-down. As a writer of fiction he draws on himself, with whatever changes are required for the people he invents. They are taller or shorter than he is, braver or less brave, more honest or less, more aggressive or less. Better at sports perhaps, or talented in ways he isn’t. But never before has one of them assumed the moral high ground and lectured him from there. ‘What do I do now?’ he asks his mind.

‘Explore your material,’ comes the answer.

‘I always do,’ says Max. ‘You know that.’

‘So keep doing it,’ says his mind. ‘You always say that if you knew how the story was going to come out you wouldn’t bother writing it.’

‘Give me a break,’ says Max. ‘This is a whole new ball game and I need time to think about it. Moe has made me so ashamed of myself. Lola is so much more than I realised. She keeps expanding like a flower unfolding. She fills my whole being with what she was to me, all that I never knew until now.’

‘Ever heard the expression, “A day late and a dollar short?”’

‘Yes,’ says Max.

‘There you have it,’ says Max’s mind.